


That Which Refuses to Stay Buried

by Draycarla



Series: Galra Week/ween 2020 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Sendak (Voltron) has Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, the relationships aren't major, well its an attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27306223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycarla/pseuds/Draycarla
Summary: After being found after missing for so long, Sendak starts trying to rebuild his life. Yet there is something very wrong with his reality, and Sendak doesn't know how to cope with what he's seeing or hearing, except to avoid talking about it. It's all just nightmares.Just nightmares.Yet, they feel all too real.
Relationships: Haxus & Sendak (Voltron), Hepta & Sendak (Voltron), Hepta/Sendak (Voltron), Implied Sendak/Zarkon, past Haxus/Sendak
Series: Galra Week/ween 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016622
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	That Which Refuses to Stay Buried

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Life's been pretty hectic for me over the last month with a lot going on offline. Work's been hella stressful and my mood's gone south badly since we're heading to winter. I've also been working on Galra Week 2020 things, and have some stuff in store coming later in November. 
> 
> However, I present the Galraween piece that isn't about halloween, but did allow for horror which is a bit more up my alley. It's not gone totally to plan, but since I love hurting Shiro, please find enclosed about 10k of Sendak agony and torment!
> 
> I'd like to thank you guys for waiting so patiently, and hope you can enjoy the fic! It was a lot of fun, even if it almost broached into some necrophilia at one point during initial writing. You're safe, there's no necrophilia. However I have decided to use some funky formatting for the nature of this piece which to me, makes it a bit more !!
> 
> The tags are because I don't want to spoil, but you know the drill with the CNtUAW, so I'll let you have that surprise. Thank you for reading!

Sendak took in the new battle cruiser suspended within the hangar, ignoring the low thrum from his new prosthetic. To others it was inaudible, but it was an ever-present, lingering, noise in his ears compared to the last arm. Haggar said he would get used to it, like he would get used to his new lieutenant and crew; he simply had to. Sendak's cybernetic eye found the tiny details on the ship; were they new, or had he been gone for so long that he'd forgotten what a cruiser looked like? Sendak wrinkled his nose at the memories; he'd been gone for too long, and _this_ had happened in his absence. Zarkon was dead, when it should be Lotor, the Paladins; _anyone_ but him. Victory or death be damned in this single slip of that rule; it was their Emperor, _his Emperor_ , the one to be reborn stronger then any Galra could imagine inside the rift. Sendak had failed in that remit of his job, allowing children and _him_ to take Sendak prisoner no less, then-

Sendak snapped his head around to the sound of footsteps with a small growl.

“Sorry, Commander Sendak,” the speaker – Hepta - abruptly stopped in place, “I just need you to sign-off a few things before we head out for Feyiv. I know,” Hepta smiled as he bowed, “that you'll light the torch at the Kral Zera, and the Galra Empire will-”

“The data pad, Lieutenant Hepta.” Sendak stretched out his hand expectantly. Why Haggar had to find one like Haxus he didn't know. Maybe it was a cruel reminder not to make the same mistake again? As Sendak snatched the data pad away, he knew he didn't need a reminder, his head did that enough. He didn't need one of Haggar's loyal little underlings watching his every movement, _especially_ one attached to Project Kuron of all gods-forsaken things. Sendak stared down at the list; the words bleeding together into incoherent lines and shapes.

“Sir? Is everything okay?” Sendak's ears caught the laced undertones of pity, and with a grunt, he thrust the data pad back to Hepta.

“I was assessing your work. It was a disappointment. Re-do the checks again properly.” Sendak turned on his heel, flexing the long points of his prosthetic arm. It wasn't an arm so much as a weapon. “When you have done it properly, come to my office.” Sendak ignored the stammered response as he stalked along the catwalk. He was being pathetic; unable to read basic Galran. Sendak had read these words thousands of times over they were committed to memory, so _why_ couldn't he on this quintant? As he entered the lift, Sendak stretched out his arm and ran it along the railing with a loud hiss. It started its descent down its pre-assigned route.

-

Sendak was having trouble sleeping again, and on nights like these, it was just easier to throw himself into work to stop the thoughts that reached out through the inky blackness of his mind, not dissimilar to that of deep space. With a grunt, he trailed his organic fingers over the railing. Sendak tapped the button and pressed his back against the metal, giving himself a firm view of his surroundings. It was a new preference he had – Sendak liked to know what was going on around him from any perceivable angle, even if it was nothing. He tuned out as the blinking light climbed upwards with a long sigh, closing his eye while the cybernetic remained as vigilant as always.

Discussions with Haggar rang in his mind. There was a difference in her now that Sendak couldn't put his finger on; was it because Zarkon was gone? She was always at his side, and losing someone that close...well, Sendak knew something about that intimately. There was nothing new about her distance; that Haggar had to an art, but there was something different about that too. Perhaps grief? It wasn't like the others around him weren't grieving Zarkon despite how they carried on. The Galra Empire would continue, and even if Haggar had designs for him to become the new Emperor, even Sendak agreed there was no other option that was better suited. Trugg, Ranveig, Ladnok, and even Gnov, weren't the right _type_ to rule, and Sendak was the only one who truly could carry on _most_ of Zarkon's vision. The difference was he cared little for Voltron, but if Haggar wanted the thing, then he'd give her that much. She was always a better ally then enemy. Voltron had it's uses, but the Lions were particular, and he couldn't have a weapon with semi-sentience about in the universe unless it could be contained.

A slow, strange clicking noise shook Sendak from his thoughts.

“What now?” He growled out, snapping his head up. The little light above the door flashed on the top-most floor. Which was strange, because Sendak hadn't selected this level. As he took his hand from the railing, there was a loud creak and moan of metal that had Sendak pause lifting his foot. As the moan grew louder, Sendak could feel his heartbeat rise in his chest, especially when he scanned the previous forty-floors before the top. With a snap of his teeth, Sendak stalked to the keypad, hammering the alarm button. The blasted thing was broken, and he was not going to panic about a simple malfunction. As if to spite him, the lights went out, all expect the single one that flashed and the glow from his own eyes and prosthetic. Sendak hissed as he caught the light of his own eyes reflected back against the metal; it was a reminder of his nightmares. His ears pricked again to the increasing metallic groan. He pressed the button again with more urgency at the stutters increased, like something was about to give out.

Something above gave with a resounding roar. Sendak's body jerked, prosthetic claws screeching against the metal floor as he staggered to find his footing. He wasn't dying like this; not falling to his death in a metal coffin. Sendak hadn't died before, and he wasn't going to let this kill him. The blood furiously pumped in his ears as Sendak jerked around, but his options weren't great as the little light flashed down between levels. Every tick was a level; another tick closer to his demise. The confines of the lift were suffocating; drawing in closer, and closer, until he was back in that pod.

Falling.

Haxus fell.

Faster.

Just as fast.

Lights flashing like strobes.

Cold Altean metal.

Nothing.

Engine components.

Spat out into space.

The unseen floor below.

Death on impact.

The dull tone pulled a desperate gulp of air into Sendak's lungs. He snapped his head around the lift, eye wide as everything looked the same. He glanced down at his chest, hand desperately clutching at his armour. It was nothing. Just his dreams playing tricks on him despite Sendak being wide awake. Sendak stiffened, running a hand through his crest and teasing the fur behind out. He was being ridiculous; this weak behaviour was not befitting a Galra of his station. Sendak stormed from the lift, not casting a look back despite the niggling voice to. The corridor felt familiar – like he had walked this more times then he actually had. Sendak came to a stop, taking a sharp inhale in, as he took stock of his surroundings. No, it was just _like_ the route on his ship to the escape pods, nothing else. Sendak shook his head and carried onwards. Besides, if it was – which was completely impossible – there would be one large scar through the metal left before Champion escaped. A long line left by that prosthetic hand of his. That ship was destroyed; a warped heap of twisted metal on Arus. The first casualty caused by Voltron, and now space was full of countless other eviscerated ships left in their violent wake. Sendak would see Voltron pay their debt in blood.

As Sendak came to the office door, his ears pricked to something distant. A voice, footsteps. He narrowed his eye. No one should be awake at this time. Sendak's palm hovered above the panel as he strained his ears. They weren't getting closer, but they weren't growing further away either. With a click of his tongue, Sendak stalked the length of the corridor, but the noise stayed at a constant, and this was starting to vex him. Sendak turned a corner to find a dead end, yet the noise remained. Sendak didn't _fear_ it, but there was something that unsettled him. Something about not _seeing_ but _hearing_ , yet he had that gut instinct something was watching him. A droid? Haggar? A sentry? Another Galra? Sendak snorted in frustration. It was all in his head. As he turned on his heel and stepped forwards, the lights around him went. He stood statue-still as each section in front, and behind, shut down until he was left again in darkness, the only glow from his own person. Sendak was getting pissed off now. There was something about this that felt like Haggar's magic, and as Sendak was about to open his mouth, he abruptly snapped it shut.

Heavy clanking.

This wasn't like a sentry. There was only _one_ person who walked like that.

A single person that shouldn't be here.

Sendak's fur bristled. He should raise the arm.

 _What if he's not dead_?

No. No, he _was_ dead. Whatever this was, wasn't real.

“I do not know what I have done, Haggar,” Sendak hissed as he raised the arm, the light of his prosthetic glistening against the three huge metal claws as they retracted, “but your trickery has no power here.” That evil chuckle of hers never sounded in Sendak's ears, but the heavy footfalls stopped.

It was just Sendak's shallow breathing in his ears. The long, slow, steady jittery creak of the ship around him.

It was an inferno of purple flames that licked the walls, the floor, and ceiling around Sendak. He spun around on the spot, looking for _something_ , until a very real, very cold hand grabbed him by the throat, and another wrenched his flesh arm straight behind his back. A low, dangerous rumble sounded off in Sendak's ear as the grip tightened, threatening to either snap his neck, or suffocate him. The fire was reminiscent of that of the sacred flame, and as Sendak's body was hoisted into the air, he didn't have to look to know it was Zarkon; the grip was telling enough. Between the fire, the lack of oxygen, the constriction, the inability to defend himself, and that reminder of a claustrophobic space, Sendak could only thrash so much, but nothing seemed to connect.

“This is how you choose to greet your Emperor?”

Zarkon's the grip compressed Sendak's airway completely. Eye wide, Sendak desperately wheezed as light-headedness kicked in-

Sendak jerked so violently from the sheets that he heard the fabric tear around him. He swallowed deep lungfuls of air, pushing his flesh hand over his face. As Sendak panted, he scrubbed at his eye with a groan, ignoring the dampness to his fur.

“Sen?” A sharp snarl tore from Sendak's throat as he snapped his head to the side. Haxus laid there, sharp brows pointed down, and expression that of fearful concern, despite the grogginess. “Sen, what's wrong?” The words didn't come; nothing but short and sharp breaths as a clawed hand extended with caution. “You look like you've seen a ghost.” Haxus _was_ a ghost. He was dead. As fingers found Sendak's cheek, he violently jerked away. No, this was cruel. This **was not** real. “Sendak?” Haxus's lips fell as he recoiled away like the action burned.

Like the flames from his dream, or was it even a dream?

“This is not real; you are not real.” Sendak slipped out the side of his bed, Haxus even more confused. This hurt. It hurt more because Sendak didn't _want_ to recoil from his once-lover. It burned when he found out Haxus's fate, and now this nightmare burned more.

“What's wrong with you? I'm here – we're here in our quarters. Why don't you think I'm real?” The way Haxus worried at his bottom lip was the small sign he was scared, and Sendak _never_ wanted to him to feel like that around him. This...Sendak didn't _know_ what this was, but he couldn't see Haxus like this on principle.

“Stop that. This,” Sendak motioned at himself, “I...am not certain _what_ this is, but would you allow me,” on hesitant feet, Sendak moved back to the edge of the bed, catching his old prosthetic back in the port as opposed to the arm he had in his dreams, “to explain?” Haxus pushed himself up properly, arms folded across his chest, claws pressed into his short fur.

“I'm listening, Sen. I'm worried about you, not even your dreams about,” he gestured to the stump of Sendak's arm, “that, leave you like this.” Which was a truth only Haxus knew. With a sharp breath, and another push of his claws across his face, Sendak started regaling the strange dreams to what he _wished_ wasn't the ghost of the man he'd not protected.

The silence between them was thick dobosh's after Sendak finished.

“It sounds,” Haxus started slowly, “like you've had some terribly vivid dreams, but they're just that.” He patted the space where Sendak always slept. He followed the silent order to return. Haxus's arms laced around his chest, pulling Sendak in so close he could smell Haxus; that strange semi-sweet scent of his calming, grounding. “Zarkon isn't dead, and imagine? Killed by Lotor? I think your worries have ran away with you.” Fingers stroked between his shoulder blades soothingly. “Yet,” and there was the tiniest huff, “you _thought_ I'd die at the hands of children? How weak do you think I am?”

“Not weak,” Sendak closed his eye, only seeing through the cybernetic that was forever on, forever picking up readings, “taken off-guard, and over-confident.”

“I don't know if I find that more offensive, or the idea you thought _Champion_ would pilot the Black Lion. Could you imagine? Him? It's laughable, really. It is a shame,” Haxus grinned as he rolled on top of Sendak, brushing their lips together, “you can't go throw _him_ into the engine.” Sendak snorted. These actions felt real. Sendak could _feel_ the taut muscle under Haxus's flesh and his soft, short fur, he could smell, hear, and as their lips pressed together, Sendak could taste Haxus.

“Perhaps,” Sendak murmured as the kiss broke, “you would enjoy assisting me later?”

“With?” Haxus drew geometric shapes into Sendak's chest, brow cocked in that way when he knew the answer.

“Reminding it of its place.” Sendak brushed his thumb over those pointed cheekbones with fondness. “I sincerely hope there is a place in your schedule for such a thing?”

“I am sure some things can be rescheduled. I mean,” Haxus rolled off to the side with a hum, “it depends on my boss. You see,” Haxus rotated his wrist, “he's quite particular about duties completed in a timely manner, and he puts an _awful_ amount on my plate.” They laughed, Haxus's chest warm against Sendak's cheek.

Things _had_ been stressful lately. They were after the Red Lion, and Sendak needed to do this right for Zarkon. There was some slight issues with Champion, but that was typical from what Sendak understood. He didn't like to deal with the thing unless it was necessary, or Sendak was feeling particularly annoyed at something. He was a ship commander; not a glorified kit-sitter for Haggar. Sendak pushed himself up on his elbow, leaning over Haxus's face. Sendak drank in every line, dip, and fleck of purples and blues in Haxus's fur, how his eyes shone so brilliantly. Haxus couldn't be dead; Sendak wouldn't allow himself to make that type of mistake. Yet still, in the back of his mind, those nightmares felt so _real_ , so precise. Sendak captured Haxus's lips in his own once more, and his lover pushed him back into the remainder of the sheets with a satisfied purr. Sendak would get over it, it was merely a blip.

-

The quintants had passed in a blur so quickly, Sendak was still surprised how many _had_ passed. It was like they never existed, but he could still remember snippets. Just like it always was with Haxus on the bridge, at his side, or in the sheets. The audible and visual disturbances had _mostly_ faded, although there were moments when he felt eyes on his back, or heard the odd whisper here and there in the dark corners of hallways late at night. Sendak pressed his hand against the palm reader, and entered the pitch-black quarters. He snorted as he removed his armour; Haxus was probably sprawled out on the sheets doing some last-dobosh tasks. Sendak hadn't known this until he'd caught Haxus a few times with a data pad in hand, which he'd quickly toss to the pile of clothes on the floor in that flustered little way Haxus had about him if he was caught doing something he shouldn't. While Sendak did not believe in luck, Haxus was a rarity that he had happened to come across, and he'd never let Haxus go.

Haxus was laid upon the bed as Sendak entered the room, the glow of his eyes much dimmer than normal.

“Haxus?” Sendak paused. He'd seemed fine on the bridge earlier, and Haxus rarely, if ever, got sick. Sendak quickly padded over, brows creased in concern for his lover. He placed a knee on the mattress, tilting Haxus's face in his direction. It was warm. _It was wet_. Sendak recoiled, bringing his palm to his eyes. The breath froze within his lungs at the realisation, and after that it was a blur, as it felt like Sendak's heart froze along with it. The light was on, and he saw his lover. The cracked remnants of his skull decorated the sheets along with his blood and brain matter. Blood on his face, and a terrified expression the last one Haxus would wear upon his face. The rest of the body was cracked, broken; limbs offset at strange angles, bone splintered. Sendak didn't know why he tried to move the body, but Haxus's arm flopped unceremoniously back to the sheets like a limp noodle. Sendak's body shook. There were no words. There was nothing. He didn't understand what had- this was like the dreams. No. _No!_

Feet.

Feet right behind him.

Sendak turned to see a flash of white and green. _That child!_ With a battle cry, that cursed bayard slashed green straight across his face-

The clawed gauntlet punctured the wall, Sendak panting heavily. Where was she? Where was that _fucking_ Paladin?

“C-Commander?”

Sendak twisted his head to find Haxus- no – _Hepta_ there. Those pupils looked from him to the gauntlet pierced through the metal, and then back. With a snarl, Sendak ripped it from the wall, drawing himself back to full height. He wasn't in the mood to explain himself – not like he really could either. It was likely Haggar's loyal little button-pusher would just try and use this to his advantage.

“I get your frustration – about Lotor – I'd probably do the same.” Sendak stopped, frowning at the comment. “Also going to Earth, you know? I mean with you at the helm, we'll have the planet under our control in a few vargas, but it's not like it's going to be much of a challenge.” Sendak heard Hepta's footfalls – which fell with some hesitance – come to a stop behind him. “Especially for someone like you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Sendak tilted his head to the side, eyeballing Hepta.

“Oh, I know it won't,” Hepta brought his hands behind his back, “but something tells me asking 'are you okay' is going to be to my detriment.”

“I am _fine_.”

“Which is why I didn't ask, because that's what you'd say. It's what you've been saying a lot, and I get it, that you don't trust me. Us.” Hepta motioned around them. “You were gone for a long time.”

“I _know_ I was. I do not need reminding of it!” Sendak snapped, clenching his jaw tight as he glared down the corridor.

“It wasn't a reminder,” Hepta's voice kept steady, “it's just a statement. If we'd found you sooner, I don't think we'd be here under these circumstances.”

“What is it you want from me? What is your agenda?” Sendak couldn't fully place Hepta's motivations, much like he hadn't felt...aware of himself or anything lately. It felt like he wasn't _him_. Even these actions here didn't seem to phase Hepta, or at least cause the man some type of alarm. It was suspect; Hepta was suspect.

“My agenda?” Hepta slipped around his side to stand in front of him, arms tightly held behind his back. “The only agenda I have is seeing that the Fire of Purification is victorious, and I will see to that by any means possible. What I want, Commander Sendak, is your trust.”

“My trust.” Sendak repeated. Trust was needed, but to have trust meant rapport was built, and if history told Sendak anything, it was that those he trusted most had always been close, and now as it turned out: dead. Haxus's face still haunted him – a face he hadn't seen – a body he hadn't seen either. “It does not come easily.”

“I expected as much. I'm not asking to be your friend, to be your most trusted, no, that's never going to be my place.” Hepta tilted his head to the side, a somewhat bittersweet smile on his lips. “I just ask that you trust me enough so we can be victorious. I know you like everything in order, everything to perfection. Not a hair out of place. You're like Haggar in that respect, but more approachable.”

Sendak arched a brow at the comment, and Hepta's lips twitched.

“I know already that us who work under her have this...reputation we're loyal to her. Sure, she's been my boss, and you know what projects I've been on. But, and whether this helps change your opinion about me, I wanted this position over the one on her ship.”

“You wanted to be on my ship?” This piqued Sendak's interest enough to listen.

“Yes. I've missed front line duties, and working with you? Well,” Hepta glanced to the floor, then back up to Sendak, metal hands falling to his sides, “you're the reason I've pushed myself and clawed my way up through the ranks. I wanted to meet you, learn from you. You're an inspiration to me, and there was no way you'd be interested in some random officer.”

“As I said,” Sendak took a step forward, “flattery will get you nowhere. I am not a teacher – I do not take students.” Sendak wondered for a tick if this was how Zarkon felt. It was cringe-inducing if only because it reminded him of himself at this age. He carried on, moving past Hepta, and once again those footsteps followed behind him.

“I'm not asking you to be my teacher, Commander Sendak, I just want you to know that I'm here _because_ of you, not on Haggar's orders or anything. I want to help you make the Empire whole again, I want to do my part.” Sendak turned on his heel, Hepta knocking against his arm before quickly stepping backwards. “I'm sorry, sir-”

“Shut up.” Sendak looked at Hepta. He'd met Galra like him before; excitable upstarts who would bend over backwards for their superior officers. With the Empire in the fractured state it was in, Hepta was a reminder of the past, of better times. Regardless, they were also going to be working together for the foreseeable future. If Hepta meant what he said, he would show Sendak through actions. “If what you say is true, I will give you a single chance.” Sendak needed loyalty around him, and with how he'd been as of late, he needed that more then ever. Having these strange moments and waking dreams, or nightmares, were effecting him more than he expected, and while he'd normally keep this to himself, his crew were noticing this weakness more than likely.

“T-Thank you, Commander! You won't regret it.” Hepta smiled – genuinely – up at him, and offered a salute. Sendak offered a curt nod, before going to move again.

“Lieutenant Hepta, request the drones to fix the wall.”

“Understood, Commander.” A crisp reply. Not in Haxus's voice. Sendak grunted in approval. He'd put the boy through his paces in due course, but at present this was a good distraction from the thoughts in Sendak's head.

-

Sendak stared at the blue planet before him. This was the home of _him_ , and the rest of the Paladins. Sendak found pleasure in the knowledge that they'd be distraught, _horrified_ , that Sendak had used their weaknesses against them, and so far as he was concerned, it was only a taste of what they were due. For all the Galra that Voltron had killed, Sendak would see these humans pay that in equal measure and then some. He stared at it, this 'Earth' as it was called. His heart skipped a beat as the details became clearer.

The blue.

The white wisps.

The various greens and browns of the continents.

It was reminiscent of Altea before the planet _burned_.

Sendak gripped the terminal tightly with his organic hand, feeling the fur along his spine bristle. No. He would not allow this _place_ , this backwater planet, to remind him of Daibazaal. Sendak needed to use this place and its resources, not blow it to cosmic dust just like planets before. Just like Altea. Yet it was so _tempting_ just to destroy it. Let the Paladins return to find nothing but rock and dust, to know that everyone they cared for was dead, and this was the price they paid as 'defenders'. They may free planets, but they were not omnipresent, and just like the shield station ran by the late Commander Bogh, they did not defend it.

“Alert me when we are within range to issue contact.” Sendak barked.

“Of course, Commander.” Hepta turned to glance up at him, those pupils giving him his absolute attention. Sendak nodded, and turned on his heel. He couldn't stomach staring at that wretched place any longer, and he had other things to do. As he left the bridge, he stalked the long corridors back towards his quarters. As Sendak came to a corridor that had vista windows along the outside of the ship, he jerked as the ship rattled, and a bright light lit up the corridor. Sendak hissed as he shielded his eyes, jerking a step back and then forward. He ran to the window, skidding to a halt, to seek the source. When Sendak found it, he jerked back a few paces, fur all over bristling.

“No.” Sendak snarled. “ _No_.” This wasn't happening again – these cursed waking nightmares. Daibazaal was not here. This was **not** Daibazaal he was seeing. He tore his eyes away from the splintering planet – probably just an asteroid in the way of another cruiser. It was just his mind playing tricks.

Everything was normal. They were in a completely different system light-years from Daibazaal, ten thousand deca-phoebs in the future. It was just a bad memory. Sendak was _fine_.

Sendak twisted away from the window only to be met by an ocean of bodies not there previously, packed tightly together as they stared, distraught and in shock. Not all wore armour, and there were children here. There were no children aboard his ship. His blood boiled under the surface. No, this wasn't _real_ , yet as Sendak tried to storm forwards, other Galra glared up at him. The shoves felt real, and so did the elbow in the back of his spine. Sendak was feeling it, the suffocating claustrophobia, all over again. It was like these phantoms could sense his growing agitation, yet chose to remain rooted to the spot and cast him glowers.

“What're you running for? Look! Remember this!”

Sendak wasn't running.

“I can't believe Daibazaal's _gone_ all because they wanted quintessence!”

Zarkon wanted to find a way to bring it back.

“It's the Emperor's fault! If he had just taken a Galran bride this wouldn't have happened!”

Zarkon's marriage to Honerva had _nothing_ to do with Daibazaal's decline, and Sendak wouldn't hear another damned word from these gods-forsaken phantoms. He _wasn't_ running, nor was he going to accept this dissent. Alfor had _lied_ , saying Zarkon was dead. None of this was Zarkon's fault. Sendak raised his prosthetic, but instead of his great three-pronged gauntlet, came a flesh hand. _No. No this wasn't happening._ Sendak tried to push his way from the corridor. No, he rejected this, it was in the past where it needed to fucking _stay_.

“What're you trying to escape from, Officer? Our Emperor's dead, and for what? You'd run from our planet's destruction?”

The hand that gripped Sendak's arm was tight, and the pair of piercing eyes that glared down at him felt like they bored straight through. The Galra asked him again, and Sendak found himself without the protection of his confidence or his reputation. Under the gaze of this commander, it was like he was as bare as the quintant he was born.

“Go quiver in the corner like coward you are. You would've done the Empire a service dying on Daibazaal. We don't need your weakness.”

“I am not weak!” Sendak spat, tearing his hand from the commander's grip. “I am no coward! You are wrong about our Emperor,” the anger bubbled to the surface, lips curling down and teeth on display, “and you will regret doubting him!” The commander eyed Sendak with pure disdain, and yanked him in close by the armour.

“If you're not weak, then what are you running from, hm? What is the little officer of the Royal Guard terrified of? Being obsolete, or failing at his job to protect the Emperor?”

The words cut deeper then any wound Sendak had received in his life. Sendak wasn't running from _anything_. He didn't run from Daibazaal, and how could _he_ have known that Zarkon would do what he did? He'd never ran. _Never_. Sendak screwed his eyes shut, snarling out through his teeth. When he snapped his eye open, there was no one but him in the corridor. Sendak whipped his head around, turning in a circle. His cybernetic picked up no readings. As it should. There was never anything here. He knew that. It was just his imagination. Again. Sendak stood in the corridor, inhaling sharply as he came down. If it was from his organic eye, then perhaps he could keep it closed in these instances? His cybernetic only took in what was real, and now he was starting to think he couldn't trust his own vision. Questioning his reality was getting harder after every instance, because it happened during such mundane activities. Was this a dream? What if this was a dream, or a meticulously crafted illusion? Sendak went to speak Haggar's name, but stopped as he opened his lips, letting the start of her name linger. No. No it wasn't Haggar. Her influence did not have this reach, and she hadn't _done_ anything to him. They were working together as allies, not as enemies. Sendak shook his head and stormed down the corridor to the lift, pushing himself through the opening doors. He let his hand glide over the rail, clenching it tightly to ground himself.

“You did well to defend your Emperor when others doubted me.”

Zarkon's bass voice rumbled against Sendak's ear he could feel the heat, and like earlier, he felt like he was an officer again returning to his Emperor's side. A heavy, cold hand found the back of his neck, but instead of choking him, the fingers kneaded under his ears. Zarkon and Haxus knew that spot intimately well.

“Such behaviour deserves a reward.”

The ice-like touch slipped down to Sendak's hip, the metal around Zarkon's claws piercing fabric and skin.

-

They had been stationed above Earth for a deca-phoeb. The populous were either dead or rounded up into work camps. Some, like the 'Galaxy Garrison', were protected, and there was apparently some pitiful resistances around the globe. Much like _him_ , it appeared humans were about what Sendak expected: stupid, stubborn, and had an innate death wish. In the places with large populations, to keep the deplorable animals in check, he'd had small-scale arenas built as a means to bring order and obedience. The humans worked out quickly that refusal to fight met with death and a reduction of sustenance, and these checks quelled most resistance on the matter. Some humans, of course, broke the mould, but they were quickly ostracised or outed. Humans were selfish creatures for the most part, but their biggest quality certainly remained their stubbornness. That was personified in the Admiral; a female of their kind named Sanda. A hardened woman who refused to back down and still saw the good in her kind to the point she was in negotiation with him and Hepta. Sendak wondered on occasion whether she and _him_ were related.

Negotiations for the movement were over, and Sendak needed to review them. He allowed this, if only for some amusement for himself at this point. News of Voltron's disappearance caused him no end of frustration, but the blasted weapon had to be _somewhere_. For now, however, from this station, Sendak could start properly clawing back the Empire, which was what most of his quintants seemed to be. It was mentally draining, and that was why he enjoyed watching the arena fights. Memories of home. As he stepped into his quarters, he set up his terminal and took a seat. Sendak could read reports and watch the matches when he needed to think; the bloodshed always something to help ease his thought processes along. Sendak would rather be stationed on Central Command if he was going to play the part of a leader, would rather have just held another Kral Zera to make it official, but the Empire had fractured, and what was once their seat of power now drifted broken and tainted through space.

Sendak brought up the feed for the latest quintantly matches, half-listening as the Galran announcer reeled off the usual drivel. He brought up Hepta's report, pushing claws through his fur, as Sendak skimmed down to her list of demands, eye catching one in-particular. Sanda wanted him to close the arenas, and in exchange was offering information regarding the Paladin's families. Last-known locations, photographs, and names. Sendak frowned. What she wanted was disproportionate for what she offered, but he'd need to give the thing his full attention. Exhaling sharply, he rubbed his organic eye. It was twitchy, irritable, yet he hesitated to rely too heavily on his cybernetic. While he had previously to offset the strange disturbances, it turned out they came as shadows and flickers of movement he would catch. It'd increased the strange audio discrepancies, and Sendak would find himself unable to distinguish where these shadowy figures and distorted voices came from. They were always just beyond his comprehension, but he was certain it was about him, because Sendak would swear upon Haxus's memory that he'd heard his name and mutterings of 'dangerous' and 'intelligence' on some nights, with shadows looming in front of him, but never completely clear. On quintants like those, his claustrophobia was worse. Sendak could count on two hands the amount of times he'd considered tearing out his own cybernetic and organic eyes to make it fucking _stop_. With a shake of his head, Sendak set to work. He needed to give the report his attention, and find another amusing way to keep her on the back-foot. The humans would revolt in time, and once that final resistance came down, Earth would be his for good.

Sendak's attention flicked between the bloodshed and report, finding the violence relatively calming to watch as he thought. Sendak perked up when one of the slave gladiators took down another human, bringing their sword down straight through his victim's chest. Sendak hummed to himself as the camera panned over the human – face bloodstained and mouth open as they gasped for air. That look in his eyes told Sendak that this one had lost what humanity it tried to hold dear, and to him, while amusing, they were just below his favourite types; the ones that tried to cling to it. Sendak returned to his report, an idea fresh in his mind as a means to toy with Sanda.

So lost to his work, Sendak hadn't realised how many vargas had passed until a message came in. He blinked at the message; unable to fully comprehend what his Lieutenant had put down. With a grunt, Sendak rose and headed for the door. It'd be easier to talk to Hepta directly, and with that, Sendak made his way down the corridors. Aside from a few sentries and drones, he passed a few officers and guards, who saluted him out of the typical respect one should show a commanding officer. It was when his cybernetic caught something flicker past just out of his eye-line did Sendak pause, and stare down the corridor. That way was to the escape pods; there was no reason anyone on board should be heading that way _at all_ , unless it was another cursed Blade of Marmora agent, like Ulaz. Sendak had a traitor regardless of whether they were a Blade or a deserter, and took off after them.

The quick footsteps were always just out of range, and every corner Sendak came around, the shadow _just_ moved out of sight. Sendak stifled back the growl that grew in the pit of his stomach. This was maddening, and every tick that passed chasing this spectre gnawed at his patience. It was _infuriating_. At least, as Sendak got his bearings, they were away from the escape pods. He stopped, brows drawn close together as he listened to the footsteps move away. A chill ran the length of his crest to the base of his spine. While he didn't understand the feeling or justify the strange sense of dread, perhaps, as he turned on his heel, Sendak was acting a little too paranoid. As he walked, Sendak pushed his organic hand through his crest to flatten down the fur, yet the sense of dread lingered as his feet retraced his earlier steps.

-

Sanda still hadn't broken after two deca-phoebs, and Sendak wasn't sure if he respected or detested the woman who glared back at him through the transmission feed.

“You've disabled our communications,” Sanda continued, “we do not _know_ where this Voltron is, and considering what you have done to Earth,” her pupils narrowed, “to my people, you've found _nothing_. Take your weapons, and go find the damn thing. If I knew, do you think I would keep it from you?” Sendak matched her gaze.

“I think it is entirely possible, considering the barrier you have raised around your location. Your kind has a weakness; one that is built in-”

“I'm going to stop you right there.” Sanda bluntly cut in. “I don't think you understood me, _Commander Sendak_.” She spat his title with venom laced in each word to punctuate her hatred. “Five lives do not warrant protecting over the millions left upon this planet. I can assure you,” she leaned in, pupils never leaving his face, “that if they were here, I would give you the damn thing to get you off this planet. That's what you agreed, correct? That you would leave if we handed it and them over to you.”

“Six.” Sendak corrected. “Six lives and five Lions.” Sanda snorted in response.

“Five or six; it doesn't matter to me. They don't compare to millions and what you've done to Earth. Re-iterate the point; you said you would leave.”

“Oh,” Hepta chimed in, moving across to the display, “of course we would. The Galra will always honour loyalty, and in returning Voltron and the Lions to Commander Sendak, we would leave your planet.” He offered a smile, but Sanda seemed as content as Sendak could tell with his words.

“My Lieutenant is correct,” Sendak added, bringing attention back to him, “the Galra Empire has been brought back together, so we would no longer have a use for your planet or people. We would leave.”

“Understood.” Sanda cut the transmission, and Hepta let out a long sigh.

“Please say you're going to test to Zaiforges on Earth?”

“I intend to turn this backwater planet to dust.” Sendak glanced over to him. “While I did not need you to interject, you have preformed your role as expected.” Sendak stretched his arm out, and glanced at the bridge doors. His head was aching, yet he had a report from Lahn to catch up on. “I will be in my quarters if required.”

“Of course, Commander Sendak.” Hepta offered him a courteous bow, and Sendak left.

“I am so very proud of you, Sendak. Look at you, taking on so much.”

Sendak tilted his head to find Haxus at his side, looking at least alive this time. It was mixed; either Haxus was a fractured and broken bloody mess, or himself. There was no in-between. He'd gotten used to the strange disturbances increasing, and at this point there was no use fighting them any longer. Regardless, Sendak offered a small grunt of appreciation.

“They fought you – _us –_ you know. They are out there. My murderer is out there, Sendak.”

“I know.” Sendak murmured. “I will see to the Green Paladin's demise _myself_.”

“You always say what I want to hear.”

Haxus purred, and Sendak felt the weight at his side; the arm that coiled around his waist. “You know I will do what needs to be done. I will see this place turned to dust. I will see the Lions destroyed once and for all.”

“I believe you, and I also believe you will make _him_ pay.”

“ _He_ will pay.” Sendak narrowed his eye. It was _his_ fault Sendak was like this, _his_ fault that he spent phoebs in space in the pod, and _his_ fault that Sendak was here now. If the little human _bastard_ had remembered who its fucking masters were, knew to submit the Lions; then none of of this would've happened.

“I would kill him myself for damaging you. He has you under his thumb.”

Sendak stopped mid-step in the empty hallway. _Damaged_? Sendak; _under the ex-Champion's thumb_? The implications rattled in Sendak's head.

“ _Cowards run – what're you running from?”_

“ _You still crawl back alive even after your defeat? I will replace your arm as Zarkon requested, but know if I had my way, I would see that weakness eradicated. He only keeps you around because you will do anything for him.”_

“ _You've changed – you are not the same brave and smart soldier I first met. No, your loyalty is your fault – you have been damaged by my father, yet you allow it. Have you no pride, Sendak? What happened to it? Did he take that from you?”_

“ _Sendak's not a threat without the arm and now we all know his weakness. He's got nothing to bargain with, and if I know Zarkon, he won't want him back after losing Voltron.”_

“ _Do you think we should return it to the Empire, keep, or sell it onwards? I mean it's got one arm and an eye missing, so it's slightly damaged already if we do sell it...but in terms of manual jobs around the ship, I guess we could get it to drag stuff around. I mean do you think it's even alive in there?”_

“ _If it is alive, there could be a chance it's brains broken thanks to that crack there on the tank. We'll have to get it out and see, because if all else fails I reckon we could torture it for intelligence and sell it to the highest bidder. I think our furry friend there must know something about torture...well that and its Galra, so it's probably how it gets off. They're such a fucked-up race, really.”_

“I mean, no one has had you so rattled like this-”

“ **Silence! I am not,”** Sendak twisted from Haxus's grip, nostrils flared and prosthetic raised, as he stepped back, **“weak!”** No false reminder was going to bring him down, and with a belly snarl, Sendak thrust the prosthetic forward, claws retracted, to rid himself of the faux Haxus. They connected to a shrill screech that pierced Sendak's ears, and as he stared through the red haze, it was not Haxus's face he saw.

It was Hepta's.

The arm was further down the corridor; not in front of him.

Hepta's metal arms twitched, body limp and feet dangling above the ground like a puppet whose strings had snapped. The stench of fresh blood struck his nostrils.

“ _You are nothing but the witch's puppet, Sendak!”_

With a sharp gasp, Sendak bolted up. The lights were out around him, and the only noise was that of his own, sharp breathing as he took in lungfuls of air. His hand slapped the sheets to his side. Good, he was alone. Sendak slumped back against the pillow, heart pounding at hyper-jump speed against his chest.

Another dream – no – _nightmare_. Or was it? It felt like any other quintant on the ship. All of these instances felt like any other _fucking_ quintant on the ship.

Sendak didn't know if his reality was fraying. He didn't know whether he was himself. Whether he was actually alive, or this was a sick purgatory or an underworld hell where everything he feared was used against him.

The voices in his nightmares were ones he recognised, except for a single pair. His memories were fuzzy at best from that missing period.

Sendak could analyse all he pleased, but it never came with answers. Haggar never gave him answers either; just do your job and don't think. Do what he was best at.

“How does it feel, being the one on-edge all the time, Sendak?”

Sendak snapped his head up to find an outline, but that voice. _That voice_.

“Never knowing whether you're coming or going.”

The mattress depressed when it shouldn't.

“What's real and fake.”

A pale hand planted itself between Sendak's open legs.

“It's maddening, isn't it?”

There was a thrum and crackle of dark light, illuminating the features of the ex-Champion, poised with his prosthetic arm drawn back, hand flattened out like a blade.

“Being in a constant state of fear, and all because of a little human. You're weak for giving me a chance to fester in your head. It reminds me of something you said.”

_His_ expression twisted into something deranged, something like Sendak remembered from the arena. The tension snapped when both Sendak and the ex-Champion moved. The light from the prosthetic drew a blinding line through the darkness, and Sendak roared in agony as it sliced through his remaining hand. There was a melodic, chilling laugh that escaped the human's lips as he lunged forwards, driving the hand straight into Sendak's throat.

“You called me the weak one because I care about others, but we both know that was your weakness too. You may think your cold and detached act means something, but look at you now; bleeding out under something your forced to call you 'master'.”

Blood soaked into the sheets, and Sendak saw himself from above. Dead. Dead by the hand of the monster that lurked in the arena. It looked up at him, eyes blinking golden, then back to grey.

“I'm coming for you, and I'm going to make sure you stay dead this time.”

When Sendak awoke this time, he simply rolled out of bed. On unsteady feet, feeling the building nausea in his stomach, he absently moved. His body felt lethargic and like ice. Sendak held some awareness of his own reflection, water, the door to his quarters, a chill through his fur and the cold bite of metal against the soles of his feet.

Sendak walked.

And walked.

Shadows moved around him, some bumping against his body, others skirting aside.

Voices and noise felt distant to him.

Sendak stopped as he rounded a corner, eye tracing a long, scorched line against the metal walls. His gaze followed in until he found what stood at the far end of the corridor.

Shrouded in darkness _he_ stood there unmoving, body rigid and gaze locked on to Sendak.

The metal arm rose and the hand ignited, casting the ex-Champion in shadow and pink-purple light.

Sendak clenched his organic hand tightly into a fist.

The activated flatten palm pressed against the wall, and Sendak watched him walk, watched him stride, jog, break out quicker and quicker into a run. Sparks flew and metal groaned from the heat and speed as the human pelted towards him.

He leapt up with a mighty roar, that bloodthirsty look from the arena twinkling in his eyes. He screamed for Sendak's death.

And Sendak just stood there.

He took the strike.

-

The Lions and paladins were his.

Sendak had done it.

He'd won.

Well.

Not yet. There was a few details he had to smooth out.

Earth hadn't yielded to him, and so it would see what happened to planets that refused to yield for their betters. Yet there was something more pressing then all of these distractions.

Haxus's ghost followed and babbled at him as the alarms blared out. An escape.

Sendak found the broken sentries that sparked pathetically in a crumpled pile. As he progressed, he found more and more littered through the corridors. A chill washed through his body like a wave.

Yes. Just one monster existed in the universe that was capable of this level of destruction that even the other Paladins did not express. The damage was personal – more than necessary to simply put them out of commission.

It was from the anger the once-Champion pretended he no longer had. Sendak's lips instinctively curled downwards when he came to a stop. At the opposite end of the corridor, he found the bastard trying to cut his way in to the crystal room. After deca-phoebs of the bastard being nothing but shadow and nightmares, Sendak could finally do away with the Black Paladin.

“ _You_.” Sendak snarled, flexing the huge claws on the gauntlet. Before the clone could finish turning, Sendak moved, thrusting his arm forwards down the corridor. The human dodged out of the way, those cold steel eyes glowering back in utter hatred. “You think you can escape?” Sendak grunted as the gauntlet returned. “You think you can take out my ship and escape alive?” The human's lips curled upwards, his body tense, but ready to spring at any tick. Like Hepta had warned, the hand activated into a blade of some form, and the pair stood in a stalemate. Haxus whispered in his ear to kill the human, and Sendak would, but he was going to take his time, just like before. “You have nothing to say?”

The response came as a growl, and the human lunged towards him, arm out at the side and blade sparking up across the floor. Sendak hurled his gauntlet forwards again, fur bristled out as each blow was parried. Sparks flew and quintessence hummed violently as both parties tried to gain ground. Yet they moved closer and closer together, the human drawing out the Champion's persona quickly. Speed and force increased as both parties relented to their fury. Sendak had plenty to give, and with a snarl, swung the gauntlet up and round in front of him. It connected with the bestial human, sending him flying down the corridor.

“Does it hurt?” Sendak seethed as he advanced. “Is it a reminder,” Sendak stabbed the gauntlet into the floor, “of your _fucking place_ ,” a claw pierced through his leg, “or that you hold no power here?” Sendak reached down with his organic hand, which was itself a mistake. The human slashed across, taking two fingers with it. In retaliation, Sendak smashed the gauntlet against the side of his face. He struck again, and again, that white patch growing redder and redder after every strike and sickening crack.

When the red haze of his vision faded, Sendak took stock of the mangled mess that laid at his feet. While the stumps of his fingers ached, a euphoria bloomed from his stomach and up through his chest. It blossomed like the blood against the floor. It was the first time in deca-phoebs he'd felt anything. Felt so certain of himself. It was _dead_ , which meant that these ridiculous mind games should end. With the widest grin on his lips, Sendak flicked the blood from his gauntlet and turned back to where he'd left Haxus, who grinned widely back. Sendak pressed a finger to his armour.

“Turn off the alarm, Lieutenant Hepta, the escapee has been dealt with-” Sendak hacked, then again. He could taste blood. Looking down, a glowing arm protruded from his stomach, soaked magenta with his blood. Sendak's body shook as he tilted his head back, digging fangs into his lips to offset the _agony_. There, behind him, beaming up at him was the ex-Champion, looking incredibly _alive._

“You got too cocky, Sendak. What did I tell you?”

No.

Not again.

Why?

This was...this was...was Sendak even _dying_? This wasn't reality; it was another one of these ridiculous waking nightmares!

“That's right, Sendak. You can kill him all over again.”

Haxus purred, and something just...snapped. If Sendak couldn't die, then that meant it didn't matter if he tore the arm out.

So he did.

And so the pair engaged in combat again, and again, and again.

And Sendak died over and over again.

“Sendak!”

“What?!” Sendak roared, glowering down the corridor. Like he'd been punched in the gut, Hepta stood stock-still just staring at him. His pupils darted from the walls to what Sendak was holding in his hands.

“Sir, I came because an alarm went off. I thought we had an intruder...but...” he trailed off. “I think that sentry is only suitable for scrap.” Sendak snapped his head down to his organic hand – all fingers intact – to note that yes...Hepta was right. As Sendak slowly moved in a circle on his feet, he saw the damage for himself. These were _dreams_ , not...not...

“Could you come with me, sir? I'll have the sentries we still have clean this up. A malfunction; the humans have got tricky, haven't they?” Hepta motioned for Sendak to drop the sentry and follow, and Sendak found himself complying.

In silence, Sendak followed Hepta back to the empty bridge. With a quick swipe of his metal fingers, Hepta set to work.

“We're on the bridge for a reason. I've noticed this behaviour a few times, sir, but I've kept your secret.”

“What are you doing?”

“Wiping the footage of what happened, just like the last times you have. I doubt you want this getting out.” Hepta cast Sendak a concerned look over his shoulder. “As I said before, I want to help protect your image. I respect you, even if you sometimes call me Haxus.”

“I do not-”

“I don't think you realise,” Hepta glanced back again, “you seem out of it. I'm worried though-”

“You have-” This time Hepta fully turned, crossing his arms across his chest and eyebrow arched high. “Perhaps,” Sendak wrinkled his nose, “I can concede my behaviour has been questionable.”

“You tell me if this is 'questionable'.” Hepta motioned Sendak over, and Sendak found himself approaching. In deathly silence, the pair watched the feed back. It sent a chill down Sendak's spine as he watched himself; he wasn't even on the floor he _thought_ he was on. It was on the way to the escape pods. With a hiss, Sendak smashed his closed fist against the terminal. What was on the screen was not him. It was frantic, _desperate_ , and Hepta had seen this; seen _him_ in such a weakened state. Without a word, Hepta worked around Sendak's fist, and he watched as the file was deleted.

“I don't know what I can do to help, but I am,” Hepta paused as he withdrew a few paces, “here for you.”

“Your agenda?” Sendak glowered at the dead screen.

“To protect you.”

“I could kill you.”

“I know.” Hepta muttered. “Yet you broke from it, when I called to you.” That was true, and it'd happened more than once as well. “I can't watch you at all times, but I don't want another repeat of when you walked the ship in your, uh,” at this Hepta couldn't look at him, the young Lieutenant awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, “undergarments, sir.”

“That,” Sendak's brows creased in thought, “how do you know of that dream? Are you to tell me?” Sendak didn't need to finish the sentence by how Hepta looked at him. “What did you say?”

“You must have been sleepwalking, as there was no way that you would ever allow yourself to be viewed as such. I ordered the crew not to say a word, sir, to protec-”

“That is enough.” Sendak paced the bridge. He supposed there was little point in attempting to hide his mood if Hepta had seen what he claimed. He did not want to make additional work for the man, yet Hepta had a point. Perhaps...Sendak required watching. “There is a way that could work, but understand it is purely based on the purpose of what we have discussed.” Sendak stopped pacing, balling his hand into another fist behind his back. “You could...stay.”

“Stay? You mean in your quarters?”

“Until this settles. Until this,” he motioned at himself, “is over. At present I trust you, and you alone.”

“I...I don't know what to say.” Hepta scratched at himself again. “T-Thank you, Commander Sendak. I am...humbled that you trust me that much.”

“I suppose it has been some time. You have,” Sendak swallowed, “proven yourself, I suppose.”

“I won't let you down, sir.” Hepta offered a salute, and quickly fell into step as Sendak paced from the bridge. Sendak would allow Hepta the sofa, but would see proper arrangements be made.

-

Hepta was torn from his sleep by a flurry of words that mashed together, and a punch to the shoulder. Instinctively, he twisted in the sheets and grabbed Sendak's single wrist firmly. Mismatched eyes found his as Sendak's body shook.

“Are you awake, Sendak?”

“Who...? What? Where is he?” Sendak went to push himself up, but Hepta kept a firm hold on Sendak's wrist. It was likely the clone dream again. If it was about Haxus, Sendak tended to wake up more demanding of attention. It hurt to see such a proud man reduced to _this_.

“I am Hepta – your lieutenant – who you asked to have here. You've just woken up from a bad dream. Was it about the ex-Champion again?” Hepta slowly brought Sendak's hand down between them, Hepta grasping it between both his hands. Sendak blinked once, then twice at him, breathing easing out just enough.

“ _Gods._ ” Sendak groaned.

“No, no, it's okay-”

“Did I...?” Sendak still struggled to look at him. He was at least _aware_ he lashed out.

“You did, but I'm certain my shoulder can take it. Was it the dream about the ex-Champion?” Sendak was silent again, and rolled onto his back.

“Yes.” He finally huffed. “How do I know this is reality? How do I know I will not wake up again, or that if I look over, you will not be someone else, or find you a broken mess upon the sheets?” Hepta paused, and let go of Sendak's hand. He rolled over and grabbed his data pad from the floor.

“Here,” Hepta quickly swiped away, “can you read this?” Sendak slowly rolled his head like it was the most difficult thing to do, and hissed at the brightness.

“It says that Sanda is a dreck. An opinion I can agree with. When did you write this?”

“During our last negotiation, but you said you can't read things – in these dreams?” Hepta supplied as he placed it down again. Sendak paused again, before curtly nodding.

“Then this is real?”

“Yes, it is.” Hepta rolled back over, letting Sendak pull him flush against his chest.

“I thank you. For grounding me back in reality. I do not understand why this happens, and I fear I will never understand it. Even Haggar does not know why I do not act like myself.”

“I can't say I understand why,” Hepta muttered as he smoothed metal fingers across Sendak's arm, “except that you have been through enough.” Sendak grunted, pressing Hepta closer. “Try and get some more sleep, okay?”

Hepta listened to Sendak's heartbeat as it slowed, and eventually the tight hold started to relax around his body. It had taken only a phoeb until Sendak invited him into his bed, and then less than a movement until he'd indulged Hepta intimately. The crew were talking, of course, but they weren't anything official. Hepta pressed his lips affectionately against Sendak's throat, letting his metal fingers glide over the taut muscle. Sendak grunted, but remained asleep. While Hepta – at times – wished he could be more honest with his Commander, he was grateful for what Haggar had done, even if the results weren't completely perfect. The procedure had always been a hard one with a notable room for error, as he'd seen previously in past work. But Hepta loved Sendak despite the volatile and strange nature he'd developed. Haggar had rewarded his loyalty in spades, and now here he was, almost three deca-phoebs later, held against what was most important for him in all the universe. In time, Hepta was sure he could get Sendak to channel these fears into something useful, but a start had been made at minimum. Hepta's hand drifted down to Sendak's hip, and with his metal thumb, he rubbed against the bone with affection. Haggar wanted her broken clone dead, and Hepta wanted Sendak free of the past. He was sure, as he closed his eyes, that both could be achieved in due course.

**Author's Note:**

> So.
> 
> I think, for me, Sendak has some really bad PTSD personally. That was my take-away while writing this at least, but not the angle that I was aiming for, but appreciate it can be read as such.
> 
> Though I didn't confirm it, I'm leaving it in the air about whether this is a clone Sendak or not, but you can take it as you please. I appreciate it may have been a tad confusing/whiplash-inducing with the amount of waking up, then again, but I wanted to convey that confusion through these means. 
> 
> It's not my best piece and it didn't play ball as much as I would have liked, but I hope, dear readers, you've enjoyed it nonetheless!
> 
> See you again soon!


End file.
